


speak ill

by lesbianophelia



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Gaang (Avatar) as Family, M/M, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Past Child Abuse, Post-Canon, Protective Sokka (Avatar)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:01:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24795100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianophelia/pseuds/lesbianophelia
Summary: "I hate your dad so much,” Sokka considers for a second. He tries to mix it up as often as he can when they play this game. “That I have considered starting an official petition begging Aang to reconsider his commitment to nonviolence.”It’s quiet for a beat. He’s afraid he’s miscalculated, but Zuko laughs, broken and sincere.(Or: 5, 8, 15 years after the war, Sokka talks shit about Ozai.)
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 103
Kudos: 2299
Collections: Best of Avatar: The Last Airbender





	speak ill

i   
  
Sokka spends the last hour of his council meeting praying -- to Yue, to Tui and La, to Agni, to anyone who might possibly listen -- for it to just end soon. His visit to the Northern Water Tribe stretched on and on, and he got in so late last night that he didn’t have a chance to do anything other than go straight to his chambers.   
  
As the Earth Kingdom Ambassador continues to drone on and on about some of the recent deliberations, Sokka bites the inside of his cheek and tries to squash down his urge to doodle in the margins of his notes. Finally -- _blessedly_ \-- the meeting ends and Sokka realizes with a sigh that really, all he has time to do is change and get ready for tonight’s dinner. If he had his way, his _welcome back_ dinner would be something he could eat in his chambers. Maybe even on his bed.   
  
Still. He’s looking forward to seeing his friends. Well -- one friend in specific. Something strange has been happening, these last months. Something that makes Sokka feel like there’s a hundred pound weight sinking into his chest when he talks to the Fire Lord. It makes sparring deeply uncomfortable.   
  
As expected, he’s seated near the Fire Lord. Typical for the Guest Of Honor at an event like this. Zuko flashes him a smile that looks more _Old Friend_ than _Dignitary_ and that weight presses further against Sokka’s ribs.   
  
“How was your stay in the North Pole?” he asks, his voice low enough that though others are definitely listening, Sokka feels sure it’s a genuine question.   
  
“Long,” he answers.   
  
A corner of Zuko’s mouth ticks up. “We’re glad to have you home.”   
  
_Home._ Sokka has spent much of the five years since the war in the Fire Nation -- making trips here from the South Pole every few months and being received as an honored guest every time. But Zuko is right -- this is meant to be his _home_ now. It was so late that they just brought him to his familiar guest quarters last night, but he’ll be moving into his official chambers tonight.   
  
“Thank you.” Sokka is sure he says it too late, and he’s suddenly unable to look right at Zuko, so he aims it down at the greens on his plate instead. A leather clad foot nudges his under the table in response and Sokka has to force himself not to react, though he knows casual touches like this aren’t exactly in the firebender’s nature.   
  
“Should I plan on sparring tomorrow?” Zuko continues, his voice even lower this time. “Everyone claims they’re not going easy on me, but I don’t believe them.”   
  
Sokka breathes out a little laugh at the thought. There are thousands of people who would be more than happy to spar with the Fire Lord. He’s been Zuko’s preferred partner for years, though. “You’re on.”   
  
“A toast,” Zuko declares, his voice projecting out over the entire table now as he stands. “To Ambassador Sokka.” As everyone choruses their agreement, Zuko rests a hand on Sokka’s shoulder. Sokka nearly chokes on his wine.   
  
  
. . .   
  
Sokka has been living in the Fire Nation for a month when he runs into Zuko in the hallway. Almost literally, because Zuko doesn’t seem to be paying any attention at all to where he’s gone. He’s got his hood up over his head, though it’s hardly an effective disguise, but it takes Sokka a moment to parse why he would be coming up this way. Unless -- oh. He must have been making a visit to someone in prison, down in the basements.   
  
“Hey.” Sokka turns around, falls into step beside Zuko. “You’re up late.”   
  
“It was a long day,” Zuko agrees, something in his face strange and distant. Even his voice sounds off. Rough, almost.   
  
“Are you --?” Sokka starts, and then regrets even beginning to ask when Zuko turns his face towards him, because it feels stupid, friends or not. “I could make tea,” he says anyway. “If you want to see my chambers.”   
  
Zuko exhales something very close to a laugh. “I’ve seen your chambers,” he says, which must have been before Sokka moved in.   
  
“Yeah, okay,” Sokka says. “But Iroh sent me away with _so_ much tea when I last visited. You’d be doing me a favor.”   
  
Zuko swallows. “Tea . . . sounds good,” he manages. “Thank you, Sokka.”   
  
“When were you in my room?” he asks as they turn to head that way.   
  
“I -- was . . .” Zuko starts, and then straightens, adopting his Royal Posture that doesn’t _usually_ mean he’s full of shit, just in private. “I like to make sure everything is in order. Before the ambassadors move in.”   
  
Sokka bites his lip to contain his grin. He loves having the chance to give Zuko grief. “Wow,” he says. “And of course there’s no one who could do that for you.”   
  
Zuko considers for a moment, and then he smiles. It’s over in a flash, but that’s okay. Sokka saw it, so he’ll take credit for it forever. “Shut up,” he says. “I like to take a hands on approach.”   
  
Sokka has to work at not laughing. To an absolutely absurd degree, he wishes Zuko really _did_ take a hands on approach. He makes the tea, remembering at the last moment that Zuko isn’t usually up all night and choosing something without caffeine, and then he tries very hard to not stare when they settle in at the small table on the far end of the room.   
  
He doesn’t have to press. It takes some time, but eventually Zuko sighs.   
  
“I was visiting my father.”   
  
Though Sokka would have put money on that, he tries not to look like this was exactly his worry. “How did that go?”   
  
Zuko bites his lips together. “The usual,” he says, his voice void of emotion. “I’m a disgrace, I’ve ruined an empire, he wishes he had let me drown when I was a child.”   
  
Sokka glances around the room, exaggerating his appraisal. “I dunno, Zuko. Looks pretty good for a ruined empire.”   
  
It’s quiet for a beat. Sokka’s heart pounds in his chest, the fear that he’s fucked up just starting to wash over him when Zuko coughs out a little laugh. “Thanks, Sokka.”   
  
Sokka manages a shrug.   
  
“I should stop visiting him.” The firebender doesn’t seem to actually believe that. Maybe he just wants Sokka to think he does. “I know. I just--” he stops himself, staring down at his tea instead.   
  
“Hey.” Sokka is pretty certain it’s the wrong move, but he reaches across the table and brushes his fingers against Zuko’s. “It’s okay, you know.”   
  
Zuko takes a breath and then carefully relaxes his hand, shifting it across the table, just a little further against Sokka’s hand. “Your hands are always so cold,” he marvels, and when Sokka goes to pull his hand away with an apology, Zuko moves quickly, hooking three his fingers around the side of Sokka’s. “Not a bad thing.”   
  
“Oh.”   
  
Sokka can barely breathe. They’ve hugged before, sure. But rarely, and always in a quick, fleeting motion. This is . . . different. They stay frozen like that, neither willing to be the first to pull away from the touch.   
  
“Sorry.” Zuko doesn’t pull away. “I’m not very good company.’   
  
“That’s okay,” Sokka doesn’t pull away either. “I’m a shitty host.”   
  
This earns him another little breathless laugh.   
  
“I just wish . . .” Zuko searches for the words. “I don’t know. That I could go back to being angry with him, maybe. Instead of -- whatever _this_ is.”   
  
“I can be angry for you,” Sokka offers, his eyes fixed on their joined hands. “Probably better that way, since I can’t accidentally start a fire about it. You wanna know who I hate?”   
  
Zuko snorts. “My father?”   
  
“Your stupid, idiot, asshole father,” he agrees, unsure if he’s pushed it too far or not until he sees the way Zuko’s lips are twitching in and out of a smile. He decides to double down. “You wanna know how much I hate him?”   
  
Zuko’s eyes are fixed on Sokka’s face when his gaze flits up. “A lot, probably.” The words come out almost inaudible.   
  
“So much,” Sokka agrees. “Like, sometimes I’ll remember what a dick he is when I’m just laying there trying to go to bed and--”   
  
“You think about _my father_ when you’re trying to go to bed?”   
  
Sokka’s cheeks go so hot he rethinks his earlier position about not being able to accidentally start fires. “No,” he mumbles. “And not, like. . . always at night. He just . . . comes up. Sometimes. Not that often. A couple times.”   
  
“Why?” Zuko sounds baffled. At Sokka’s silence, he presses. “Sokka. Why do you think about my father?”   
  
Realizing Zuko is maybe thirty seconds from Pulling Rank even just in the privacy of Sokka’s bedroom, he relents. “Because.” Sokka relaxes his fingers, preparing for Zuko to pull away. The next words are almost just mouthed. “I think about you.”   
  
“You . . . think about me.” Zuko tests the concept out. “Why?”   
  
“I --” Sokka cuts himself off. “I just do. All right? I -- I just . . . when I’m gone, I hope you’re okay, and Ozai is like, usually the reason you’re not okay, so-- I don’t know. I just -- have thought. Once or twice. About how much I hate him.”   
  
Zuko wets his lips. Scrubs his free hand across his face. “You think about me when you’re gone,” he says again, maybe malfunctioning or something. It sounds a little disbelieving, this time.   
  
“Of course I do,” Sokka defends. “Don’t be stupid.”   
  
Zuko laughs. Really laughs, and tries to keep his hand pressed flat against his mouth as if that will contain it. It doesn’t, of course. But Sokka can’t help the way he laughs either, mostly just relief that he hasn’t ruined something, violated some unspoken agreement between them.   
  
“For what it’s worth,” Zuko says. “I think about you too. When you’re gone.”   
  
It’s worth so much it terrifies Sokka, just a little bit.   
  
. . .   
  
ii  
  
It’s the ten year anniversary of Zuko’s banishment. Something Sokka doesn’t put together until an embarrassingly long time after Zuko asks if they can plan to get out of the Fire Nation for a few days. Even without the backstory, Sokka always would have been happy to go visit Iroh in Ba Sing Se.   
  
On the train, Zuko rests his head against Sokka’s shoulder. Their hands twine together, resting on Sokka’s knee. “I asked Katara and Aang if they wanted to come meet up with us,” Sokka admits, watching from the corner of his eye as Zuko twists around.   
  
“Yeah?” he asks.   
  
Sokka can’t help his smile at the hopeful tone in his voice. “Yeah,” he says. “And Toph was already planning on visiting this month anyway, so--”   
  
“So we’re having a party?” Zuko sounds as amused as he does horrified.   
  
“I prefer to think of it as a family reunion.” Sokka gives their joined hand a little squeeze, watching as Zuko finally gives in and laughs.  
  
. . .   
  
It is a party. One with food and presents from Aang and Katara’s travels and so much tea being pushed by Iroh. It’s a good night -- better than any official banquet in the Fire Nation, though Sokka doesn’t feel the need to rub that in. Sokka has seen Zuko drunk exactly twice, and neither time was particularly exciting.   
  
Not like tonight. Zuko keeps a tight hold on Sokka’s hand and talks more than a little bit too loudly and kisses his knuckles when he thinks no one is looking. Katara is, of course, and she’s been waiting at least eight years to have a chance to give Sokka as much shit for dating someone as he did when she and Aang ended up together at the end of the war.   
  
And -- okay. Katara is a little bit drunk, too. She’s been bending the wine from Iroh’s bottles into their glasses and on the last round, Zuko got a little bit rambly about how you can’t do anything that useful with fire.   
  
“So, Sokka,” Katara can’t help her little laugh. “You’re gonna be, what? The new prince?”   
  
“I’m not--”   
  
“Prince Consort,” Zuko blurts out, and then seems to think he’s made a mistake, because he straightens, glances around, and then speaks a little bit more softly. “That’s -- what it would be called.”   
  
Katara tips her chin up, looking like she’s about to start laughing at any minute. Sokka fixes her with a look to beg her not to. Zuko’s heart might break clean in half tonight if he thought any of them thought the concept of this hypothetical marriage was even remotely funny. It’s not something they’ve spoken about yet, but Sokka can tell from how easily he offered the title up that it’s something he’s at least considered. Huh.   
  
It’s not that Sokka wouldn’t _want_ to marry Zuko. Spirits, who wouldn’t? It’s just that he’s sort of been assuming it was outside of the realm of possibility.   
  
“You’ll have to ask Hakoda’s permission,” Toph laughs. “You prepared to do that, Fire Lord?”   
  
Zuko swallows. “Working on it.”   
  
Sokka goes still.   
  
Iroh claps Zuko against the back. “I think you should drink some water,” he says. “Before you share something you meant to keep a secret.”   
  
Toph snickers. Zuko accepts the water from Iroh, mumbling a _thank you, uncle_ that’s got to be more for the reminder to keep his mouth shut.   
  
“Sokka, does that mean you have to ask Iroh?” Aang asks, leaning forward a little bit, like he’s gonna get a better look at the drama.   
  
“Sokka doesn’t have to ask me anything,” Iroh says. “And while you’re drunk is not the time--”   
  
“Sokka should have to ask Iroh if Zuko has to ask Dad!” Katara interrupts. “That’s not fair!”   
  
“Katara,” Sokka warns.   
  
“I just think it’s a double standard,” she says.   
  
“Or maybe they could just ask each other,” Aang says, ever the peacemaker. “And that way they don’t have to ask anyone’s dad--”   
  
“Or uncle!” Katara adds hastily, eyes going wide as she apparently just now remembers the thing they’re all _supposed_ to be here to keep Zuko’s mind off of. “Good idea, Aang.”   
  
It’s quiet just for a moment.   
  
And then Zuko laughs.   
  
It’s so loud it makes Iroh startle, nearly dropping the dishes he always insists on carrying to the kitchen himself. Katara and Aang will wash them later. They always do when they come here -- they’ve worked out a system with the water and the airbending. So fast they have no need for Sokka at all, which is just as well. He has a feeling he’ll have to be babysitting Zuko tonight anyway.   
  
Zuko, who can’t seem to pull himself together. The whole table is watching him, half fascinated and half horrified. His shoulders are shaking even after he manages to quiet down. There’s a moment where Sokka thinks maybe it’s over, but then the Fire Lord snorts again. “ _Agni_ ,” he says. “Can you imagine?”   
  
Sokka bumps his shoulder against Zuko’s. “Probably wouldn’t go so well,” he says. “I’m not very good at keeping my mouth shut.”   
  
This earns him a snort. “Father would --” it’s like he remembers in the middle of his joke that whatever he was going to say isn’t funny. He swallows, the smile dropping off his lips. “Father would say no, but he would think he was doing you a _favor_.”   
  
“Hey--” Sokka starts, trying to come up with a way to redirect.   
  
Zuko gives his head a little shake. “He wouldn’t want anyone to have to be married to me. I think--”   
  
“I think we should talk about something else,” Sokka interrupts. “Yeah?”   
  
Zuko manages a slight incline of his head, barely even agreement. His good mood from earlier has been thoroughly broken, and it’s not hard to convince him to turn in while the others work at cleaning up. Iroh doesn’t have much space, so they’re staying at an inn not far from here.   
  
Zuko pretty much collapses on top of Sokka once they’re finally in the bed. Sometimes, Sokka thinks of it like they’re still making up for lost time, all the years that no one ever touched Zuko in a way that was nice. He strokes a hand through Zuko’s hair, letting his fingers scratch just slightly at the scalp, which makes him shiver.   
  
“Don’t think we’re not talking about you getting ready to talk to my father,” Sokka says, soft. Zuko gives a little grumbling noise, pressing his face further against Sokka’s chest. “Later,” he promises, which earns him a more relieved noise.   
  
“Sorry I ruined the party,” Zuko says.   
  
“You didn’t.” Katara did, but Sokka doesn’t bring that part up. “It was time for bed anyway.”   
  
“Love bed,” Zuko mumbles. And then he presses his lips against Sokka’s collarbone.   
  
It’s been so long that he’s almost certain Zuko has fallen asleep when the other man rumbles out a question, a little hoarse. “Tell me who you hate. Please?”   
  
“Hate your dad,” Sokka returns without hesitation. “You’ve said it yourself. Worst father in the history of fathers. Stupid fuck. I hate your dad so much,” Sokka considers for a second. He tries to mix it up as often as he can when they play this game. “That I have considered starting an official petition begging Aang to reconsider his commitment to nonviolence.”   
  
It’s quiet for a beat. He’s afraid he’s miscalculated, but Zuko laughs, broken and sincere.   
  
“I’m serious,” Sokka laughs back. “You remember the story about the time Kyoshi came and possessed him? I really think all we gotta do is get _her_ back--”   
  
“Love you,” Zuko interrupts.   
  
Sokka sighs, relieved for once to be free of the pressure to come up with a joke. “Love _you_ ,” he pays special attention to the hair at the nape of Zuko’s neck, waiting for his breathing to even the rest of the way out before he even considers going to sleep.   
  
. . .   
  
iii  
  
If Sokka didn’t pay so much attention to Zuko, he would have no way of knowing when Ozai’s birthday was. But there’s a pattern, a week in the middle of the summer where Zuko gets distant, first, and then nearly shuts down on a wednesday.   
  
The year after Ozai’s death, it’s even worse than usual. Sokka takes it upon himself to attend one of Zuko’s meetings in the morning. Well -- he attends it long enough to tell everyone that any important Fire Lord Business will need to be postponed until tomorrow. He does not elaborate. He probably should, but he has more pressing matters.   
  
Like the matter of his husband, who has slept in past the sunrise for maybe the first time ever. Zuko is rushing through getting dressed when Sokka comes into the chambers, the bags under his eyes betraying that Sokka was entirely right to worry about all the tossing and turning the night before.   
  
“Nope,” Sokka says, sliding the chamber doors shut behind him. “Nuh-uh.”   
  
Zuko looks over his shoulder. “I’m late,” he mumbles, trying to tuck some hair back up into the bun at the top of his head.   
  
“I took care of it,” Sokka assures him. “Get back in bed.”   
  
Zuko looks torn. “That meeting--”   
  
“Can be rescheduled,” Sokka confirms. “I told them to come back on Thursday.”   
  
This makes Zuko blink. “ _Thursday_?” he asks. “But the Earth King--”   
  
“Is willing to spend a couple days playing tourist.” Sokka crosses the room and plucks the hairpiece right out of Zuko’s top knot. “Do you really think you’d be any good in negotiations right now anyway?”   
  
Zuko considers for a moment, offering a single, almost imperceptible nod. Sokka wants to bully him back into bed, but they both know there’s no chance of him falling asleep again right now. He manages a compromise, instead, and thinks about how really, a few years of being married to the Fire Lord has made him particularly skilled at negotiations.   
  
Sokka settles himself in the back of the tub, half holding his breath for the moment where Zuko leans back against his chest, releasing the tiniest bit of tension from his shoulders. It’s okay. There’s time for him to get rid of the rest of it. It’s not like they have to worry about the water getting cold.   
  
“We can talk about it, if you want,” Sokka offers, running his hands along Zuko’s arms.   
  
Zuko cracks one eye open. “Oh, does Wang Fire do bathtub sessions now?”   
  
“For the Fire Lord?” Sokka teases back. “I’m sure he could clear some space.”   
  
Zuko laughs, just a little. “This is nice,” he admits.   
  
It’s not uncommon for them to bathe together. It would be absurd to have a tub as big as the one installed in Zuko’s chambers and not take advantage of it. It’s usually a Sunday evening tradition for them. Sokka isn’t sure when the last time they’ve bathed together in the daylight is.   
  
“It is nice,” he agrees. “You want me to wash your hair?”   
  
“Mm.” Zuko considers and then slumps back against Sokka just a little bit more. “Later.”   
  
Sokka hums in acknowledgement and takes down Zuko’s haphazard top knot, brushing his fingers through the ends and watching as they sink into the water and spread out around them in the tub. “Can’t believe you thought I was gonna let you attend a meeting with your hair like that,” Sokka pretends to be affronted. “What kind of husband do you think I am?”   
  
Zuko heaves out a sigh. “You’re right.” He’s teasing, Sokka’s pretty sure, but his voice hasn’t exactly caught up with the mood. He feels around with one hand until he catches one of Sokka’s, still absently playing with his hair, and drags it down into the water, knotting their fingers together under the surface.   
  
Sokka does get to wash Zuko’s hair. A task he approaches with a reverence that has nothing to do with Zuko’s bloodline. He takes his time as always, enjoying the way the other man shudders, reveling in the goosebumps that rise up the back of his neck every time Sokka does this, even after years.   
  
“I think . . .” Zuko’s voice comes out a little rough. “I think I still want you to do it.”   
  
Sokka blinks. “Okay,” he says. “Do what?”   
  
Zuko swallows. “The --” he stops himself, maybe feeling guilty for asking, and Sokka nudges his nose against the top of his head in encouragement, breathing in the smell of soap and bathwater. “If you do still hate him.”   
  
_Oh._ They haven’t played this game once in the months since Ozai’s death. Sokka packaged it up into a little box in his mind along with all the other jokes that have become less funny over the years. “Spirits, Zuko,” he says, and can’t clarify fast enough when the firebender shrinks a little. “Of course I still hate him.”   
  
“Who?” it’s just the bait, but Zuko can hardly get it out.   
  
“Your shitty fucking father,” Sokka says, deciding that this is the time not to pull his punches. “Asshole bastard motherfucker.”   
  
Zuko squeezes his eyes shut, but he offers a small nod that Sokka knows means he has to keep going.   
  
“Pathetic abusive piece of shit,” he says. “And a coward, and a monster, and--” he stops himself when he notices the ragged breath Zuko pulls in. “Hey,” he starts, but Zuko shakes his head, using his knees to leverage him just a little further forward in the tub and leaning back until the water has started to cover his ears.   
  
“Don’t stop,” he says. “Please.”   
  
Sokka takes a breath. Complies, as he does with anything Zuko ever asks of him. “You deserved a better father,” he says. It might not be the right thing to say, but it is true. Even if it does make Zuko’s entire face squeeze up. “I’m sorry you didn’t get one.”   
  
He sits with it for a second, sure that now is the worst time he could finish this game the usual way. He can’t threaten a dead man, anyway. Not that his threats were particularly effective before.   
  
“I’m sorry I can’t make it better,” is what he lands on instead. “I don’t know what you need, but--”   
  
Zuko sits up quickly, breaking through the surface tension of the water, sending droplets flying and splashing a wave over the side of the tub as he turns around, practically climbing up Sokka in his quest to get closer.   
  
“You do,” he says, his voice as firm as the arms he’s got wound around Sokka. “You do make it better.”   
  
Silently, Sokka thanks every Spirit he can think of. And then, just for good measure, he adds an _eat shit, Ozai._

**Author's Note:**

> thank you all so much for the support and kind words on my first zukka fic last week! :) 
> 
> I'm on Tumblr and my blog is rapidly shifting in to all ATLA all the time as I start my third watch in less than a week and a half: mendontprotectyou


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